Page 60 of The Wallflower Ruse

“He well-nigh abducted me,” Lucinda said, “but it wasn’t so very bad once I controlled my temper. Perhaps he thought it a dashing thing to do.”

They stood, moving slowly toward the dance floor. She decided to take a chance. Restive would disapprove, but she couldn’t let that concern her.

She leaned toward him and said softly, “Something about the—the mood of this party bothers me. A sort of air of expectation, which makes me feel almost...afraid.”

She waited for him to pooh-pooh this suggestion. He did just the opposite.

“You feel that too, do you?” Mr. Haraldson nodded. “I don’t wish to distress you any more than you already are, my dear, but there’s something...untoward going on here.”

“There is? Apart from the bad behavior expected at a masquerade, that is. I thought perhaps that was all that bothered me.”

“Yes, although I’m not sure precisely what.” They hastened to join the dance. “I would offer to take you home, but I can’t leave my wife.”

Good, because Lucinda couldn’t possibly go anywhere. In the first place, elderly or not, he was a gentleman she scarcely knew, and in the second place, she was here to foil a plot—if only she knew what that plot was.

Soon the figures of the dance brought her face to face with a scowling Mr. Pearce. “Why are you dancing with Haraldson?”

“Because he asked me to,” she said. “Surely you’re not jealous of an old man!”

“No,” he muttered, “but I want to dance with you and only you.”

“That would be most improper,” she said. “We shall stroll about the ballroom after this, I promise.”

When the dance brought her to Mr. Haraldson again, she asked, “Why do you think there is something untoward going on, sir?”

He eyed her, as if trying to decide what to say. “My wife has been acting mysterious and flouting me more than usual.” He smiled slightly. “You clever young ladies may think most gentlemen are tyrants, but I for one prefer not to be. I don’t order my wife about or restrict her activities. She’s an intelligent woman and would be bored if she were confined to domestic matters.”

“That’s very forward-thinking of you, Mr. Haraldson.”

Mildly abashed, he shook his head. “I prefer to avoid conflict, and as long as she’s not up to anything harmful, why not humor her? She seldom has any reason to disobey me, but she enjoys the feeling that she may.”

“How delightfully frank,” Lucinda said, unable to suppress a grin as she was passed once more to another partner.

He continued their conversation the instant the dance brought them together again. “However, lately my wife has become evasive and even pugnacious. She’s excited about tonight, too excited, and anxious as well.”

Lucinda was sorely tempted to blurt out what she knew of the plot. And yet, what if Mr. Haraldson were one of the plotters, and merely sought to find out what she knew?

“Perhaps you should take her home,” she said.

“I hesitate to do so, for she may well make a fuss. I’d prefer not to quarrel in public.”

“Then you must use guile,” she said, and proceeded to use some of her own. She took his hand and led him off the floor, feigning a turned ankle, so they could continue uninterrupted.

She couldn’t see Restive at the moment, but he must be somewhere about. “The Restoration-era gentleman is Lord Restive. Why not ask him to flirt with Mrs. Haraldson? He can escort her in the direction of the front door, and meanwhile, you will have your coach waiting, so you may thrust her into it and drive away.” Like what Mr. Pearce did to me.

He laughed and helped her toward the chairs. “What an unusual young lady you are. I shall ask him.” He paused. “By the way—”

“Yes?” The dance would soon end. Mr. Pearce glared in their direction, as if he feared Mr. Haraldson would spirit her away before he could escape his own partner.

“I met your mother yesterday, entirely by mischance,” Mr. Haraldson said. “She harangued me at length for allowing you to meet and fall in love with a poet at my house.”

“Oh, good,” Lucinda said. “That is, I’m sorry about the harangue but glad she believed me.”

“You’ll not convince me you’re in love with Pearce.”

“No, but I hoped it would prevent her from spreading rumors that I’m to marry Lord Restive, although it didn’t work.” Lucinda felt herself blushing, drat it. “She cannot force me—or poor Restive—to wed, but she will try.”

“His lordship would be fortunate to find himself such a clever and charming wife,” Mr. Haraldson said dryly. “Be careful, child.”